


Shop Til You Drop

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Grocery Shopping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 06:50:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8194405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: "What do we have in the fridge?”Harry mentally calculates the inventory: half a loaf of bread, a carton with three eggs, some cheese, a leftover bottle of champagne, and three peaches.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lifegivingwords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifegivingwords/gifts).



> For [fanciesofanenglishmajor](http://fanciesofanenglishmajor.tumblr.com/%20) for my 600 follower giveaway!

Harry considers himself a man with somewhat peculiar habits. Of course, one would expect a spy of thirty years to develop some quirks, from choosing a seat that always faced the door to checking the locks in the house before going to sleep. Merlin, however, tended to point out quirks that are simply _Harry_ : stuffing his dead dog, collecting dead butterflies and beetles, and liking to grocery shop.

He could always have groceries delivered to the door, but Harry had never been the one to lay around in his house like an invalid. In a way, he liked getting out, pushing a cart around people who checked items off lists, studiously picked up bunches of bananas to investigate bruises, and stared for ten minutes straight at different brands of cottage cheese. Years ago, Harry used to cherish the illusion that he was one of these ordinary shoppers, but he’d since stopped.

All the same, it was odd, almost lonely at times when seeing everyone pass by without secret tallies of dead bodies in their minds or gun callouses or blood on their hands.

It’s not as lonely when he looks at Eggsy. Eggsy, who officially moved in with him just five days ago. Eggsy, who bumps hips with him while washing dishes after a home-cooked meal. Eggsy, whose very presence makes Harry’s heart lighten.

He loves moments like this one: curling up on the couch, JB laying on the very narrow space next to Eggsy. The television isn’t on, but Harry’s reading a novel that has a somewhat cliche but heart-rending romance, and Eggsy’s absorbed in a group texting session with Jamal and Ryan. Occasionally, he laughs loudly at something one of the other boys say, and Harry looks from his book to watch Eggsy’s eyes light up.

“Harry?” Eggsy says, after a few minutes.

He closes his book, thumb in between the pages he was reading. “Yes?”

“I was thinking…” Eggsy looks towards the kitchen. “Maybe…we can have a housewarming party? Something quiet here, a nice dinner with courses and desserts and all—” he cuts himself off, flushing. “I mean, it was just something I was thinking of.”

Harry shakes his head. He hates seeing Eggsy hesitate like this, dismissing his own opinions as if they didn’t matter.

“This is your home, too,” Harry says gently. “And that sounds like a wonderful idea. What should we make?”

Eggsy’s eyes brighten with surprise and delight. “Something a bit fancy, maybe. What do we have in the fridge?”

Harry mentally calculates the inventory: half a loaf of bread, a carton with three eggs, some cheese, a leftover bottle of champagne, and three peaches.

“We’ll have to run to the store,” he decides. “When are you thinking of having this dinner?”

“Next…Saturday?” Eggsy shrugs. “Sunday works, too.”

“That sounds good,” Harry agrees, reaching for his phone to log it into his calendar, then gets out a piece of paper and a pen to jot down a shopping list. He and Eggsy (and Google) come up with a few dishes to cook themselves and a few desserts to purchase from their favorite bakery a few blocks away.

“…And of course, carrot cake,” Harry muses, finishing the last letter with a quick swipe.

Eggsy lightly jabs him in the side. “You just want an excuse to buy your favorite dessert. Don’t you think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“On the contrary,” Harry replies, getting an idea, “I think you’re a very, very clever individual.” Leaning forward, he kisses the corner of Eggsy’s mouth, pulling away so his lips linger tantalizingly over his ear. “Not to mention handsome. And kind-hearted. And…” He kisses just behind the ear, soft, almost invisible hairs brushing against his lips. “My favorite agent.”

A grin spreads on Eggsy’s face. “Flatterer.” His fingers slide over to rest on Harry’s knee. “Tell me more.”

“A gentleman does not push for compliments,” Harry says, getting up from the couch. At Eggsy’s unamused expression, he stifles a smile and holds out his hand. “A gentleman offers a compliment of his own in return.”

“Well, I think you’ve got the most amazing arse in all of Britain,” Eggsy declares.

Harry blinks. “Good enough,” he says, then pulls Eggsy towards the bedroom.

* * *

It’s after everything is over when they both remember they still have to go grocery shopping. The items for next week’s dinner could wait, but unless they’re very keen on eggs on toast with some champagne for tonight and a few peaches between them for tomorrow, their options are to walk to the nearby supermarket, go to a restaurant, or—

“Let’s just get takeaway,” Eggsy groans, rolling over on the mattress with a dramatic sigh. Harry smiles fondly at him, taking in the mussed hair and the half-closed lids. “I’m too tired to move.”

“As flattering as that is,” Harry says, already beginning to sit up, “we should probably at least get some milk.”

“But we have cheese slices, yeah?” Eggsy protests, then reaches out with both hands when Harry gets up to get a damp flannel. “We can make grilled cheeses! And if you have pasta—”

“There’s no butter and milk to make macaroni cheese,” Harry says, coming back and running the cloth over the mess on Eggsy’s stomach. “And I don’t think we have the right sort of cheese, either. I’m sorry, dearest, but needs must.”

“But I’m hungry now,” Eggsy moans. His stomach growls, as if agreeing. “Please, Harry, can’t we just order in?”

“It’ll take ten to thirty minutes to wait for our food, and Waitrose is less than five minutes away. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can eat,” Harry says logically, then begins to clean himself up, scanning the room for his trousers. “It’s a short walk.”

Eggsy looks up at him disbelievingly. “You want me to walk?”

“I’m not offering to carry you,” Harry says dryly.

“What if I—”

“No, Eggsy.” He gives Eggsy a faux-stern look. “I will not carry you. In fact, if you come with me without complaint, you don’t have to help me make dinner. You can lay on the couch all you want.”

“See, that’s tempting,” Eggsy drawls, making no attempt to move, “but I can just stay here and keep the bed warm for you. A better idea, yeah? And you can come up here and feed me by hand and—”

“I would like you to come with me so you can help pick what we will eat,” Harry says, slipping into his trousers and looking around for the belt. “I don’t know all the foods you like or all the foods you don’t like. And it’s your house, too,” he repeats, “therefore, it’s also your food.”

Something must have reached him because Eggsy sits up, then throws his legs over the edge of the bed. “All right,” he agrees, “but this also means you cook the breakfast tomorrow.”  

* * *

They walk over there, Harry carrying a few cloth bags and Eggsy holding their shopping list. Even though they’re not going to HQ, Harry wears a jacket over his button-down, sans the tie, with slightly-crumpled trousers, while Eggsy has a pair of jeans and a hoodie he just threw on. Eggsy gets a cart, and Harry politely smiles when one of the employers tells him how nice it is that his son is helping him shop.

His smile grows wider when Eggsy walks up to him and snogs him for a good minute, his hand dangerously close to the seat of Harry’s trousers. Harry obliges Eggsy, as he nearly always does, cupping Eggsy’s cheek in his palm. He’s had many regrets in life, and none of them involve kissing Eggsy, despite Merlin’s constant threats to have them written up for breaking many of the fraternization rules of Kingsman, which, to be fair, are rarely followed anyhow.

“Ready, love?” Eggsy cheekily asks, before shooting a covert glance at the employer, who looks a bit shocked.

Harry nods. “Ready,” he replies, then follows Eggsy into the store.  

Eggsy dutifully reads off the ingredients, while Harry steers them towards the correct aisle. It’s a little crowded, but not so much that their shopping cart bangs into anyone else’s, and with Eggsy, it almost seems a little fun, reading the signs in an enthusiastic telemarketer’s voice and snagging free samples.

“Oooh, here’s some bread,” Eggsy comments, nodding at the price tags. “Two for one! That’s not a bad deal.”

“It’s not,” Harry agrees, “but this brand—” he lifts up the loaf, wrapped in brown paper, “tastes better. Higher quality.“

“Snob,” Eggsy teases, then pecks him on the cheek before stepping away from the thin plastic bags.

Something about the exchange rubs Harry the wrong way, even though it had been fairly innocuous. He now observes Eggsy eyeing brightly-colored packets of candy, boxes of ice cream pops, fatty meats at the butcher’s, the fresh fruits and vegetables that were sprayed every so often with a gentle mist. But Eggsy’s hands never reach for them.

“What do these taste like?”

Harry looks at the silver cart, with all its varieties of gourmet olives, green and purple and black, stuffed with anything from bleu cheese to bits of sausage to whole garlic cloves. “These?”

"Yeah, I’ve never had them before.”

“Never—” Harry begins to say, but immediately bites his tongue, feeling like a prat. Of course Eggsy probably never had the money to waste on frivolous things. “It depends on your taste. Why don’t you select some varieties?”

"Really?”

“Yes.” Then, Harry adds, “Take whatever you want. We can freeze what we don’t need.”

Eggsy takes it as a challenge. The cart begins filling with tins and bags and packages. Jams with apricots. Lemon curd. Bread studded with olives and rosemary. Mexican sweet bread. Packets of curry and noodles and purple rice. Popsicles for the hot summer ahead. Aeros, in many flavors. Artichokes and sun-dried tomatoes and roasted onions. Colorful, sweet peppers. Bags of farro and quinoa. Crisps, both original flavours and combinations. Smores-flavoured Pop Tarts. Frozen creme brulee. A little jar of caviar. Varieties of cheeses and fancy deli meats. And chocolate with hazelnuts and fish gummies and yogurt-covered pretzels and nuts from the barrels of foodstuff by the cashier.

Harry calls for a Kingsman cab when they’re in line, since they probably won’t be able to walk back home with everything piled in the cart.

Eggsy looks at it all, flushing dark red. “I went overboard, didn’t I?”

Privately, Harry agrees a little, but he can’t blame Eggsy for wanting to try things that had been denied to him for most of his life. Besides, he can afford it. He owns the house, he doesn’t have a car, and he rarely goes out or spends the generous Kingsman salary. “I suppose there's truth in shopping on a full stomach,” he says, then adds, “but this way we don’t come home to an empty house when we’re away for business.”  

“Let me pay for this,” Eggsy says hurriedly.  

“Not all of it,” Harry objects, still unloading items from the cart. “I—”

“Half,” Eggsy bargains.

“Half,” Harry agrees.

“Having a party?” the cashier asks, just as everything’s nearly loaded. She brushes a strand of hair from her face, then begins tapping the screen in front of her.

“A few days from now,” Harry replies easily, passing her his card and putting in a request to split the amount. “Oh, Eggsy, it just occured to me: should I pick up Daisy this Friday?”

“No, I got it,” Eggsy says, handing the cashier his own card. “But you’re picking her up next Friday ‘cause of my—my work, remember? And you mentioned the park nearby; she’ll like that.”

The cashier smiles when she hands back their cards. “You two must have a busy schedule.”

“Oh, yeah,” Eggsy says, rolling his eyes a bit, “massive. But we always make time for Daisy.”

“Well, Daisy’s lucky to have two loving fathers,” she replies, then gives Harry the very, very long receipt. “Have a good evening.”

“You, too,” Harry says. “You have a good evening as well.”

It’s after they step out when he realizes not one of them had corrected the cashier about Daisy. “I think I’m a bit too old to be a father,” Harry jokes, waiting with the crammed cart for their ride. “More like a grandfather.”

“Nah, you’re fine,” Eggsy insists, taking out a small package of dried seaweed and ripping it open. “A mate of mine, his father’s seventy and his mum’s sixty. You’re still in the running.” He then flushes, stopping in mid-chew. “I mean, have you thought about it? Kids? I think we’re—I mean—we’re spies and—”

 _Everything's still so new_ , Harry finishes for him. “Well, we don’t have to worry about it now,” he says. “Just about what exactly we’re going to have for dinner now.”

Eggsy startles, looks at the cart, and laughs, then offers him a piece of seaweed, and Harry takes it, crunching down on the thin, salty snack.

The air is cold and clear, and although none of them can see the stars, thanks to the streetlights, it’s a lovely night, standing out here with Eggsy and the cart piled high with groceries Harry’s sure they’ll have to play quite a bit of Tetris to get them sorted on the shelves and in the pantry. Their driver should be on the way, and he knows there will be a struggle to get everything in the car, too, but won’t trade the mild inconvenience for walking home alone with just two bags full of necessities.

He has Eggsy now, and Eggsy has him. They have much to look forward to: working together in the field, having friends and family over, and sleeping in the same bed after a laborious time of putting away groceries and managing to eat something along the way.

Harry wraps an arm around Eggsy’s waist, just as the headlights of the cab come closer, and Eggsy looks up at him. “You sap,” he says, then leans upwards to kiss him.


End file.
